


i tell your story

by anticentristpropaganda



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Inspired by Hamilton, LGBT, Other, mostly just sad though, some vaguely horny shit, tankie is a dickhead, they/them ancom, this fandom needed some libunity shit here i am to deliver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25618681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticentristpropaganda/pseuds/anticentristpropaganda
Summary: when ancom dies, ancap has no way to remember his lover without threatening his ideals, causing him to be torn between peace and success.
Relationships: Ancom/Ancap, Libunity
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	i tell your story

**Author's Note:**

> ancom uses they/them
> 
> italics mean flashbacks or thoughts

The words stopped coming after a while. 

At first there were so many of them, swirling around in my head. So many that I couldn't keep track. But for now, there is only emotion and silence.

There's a blank page in front of me. Just when I need the words, they slip through my fingers and leak out my pores, barely escaping my desperate grasp.

I am so, so tired of missing them. Ancom.

...

I lost them to a fucking ape.

I had no time to think. I trusted them. I tried not to be possessive, or jealous, but I should've been. I should've been not letting them out of my sight, desperately clutching them in my arms and not letting go. Which is what I was doing when it was too late.

_"Ancom," I whispered, grazing their cheeks. "He got you, didn't he?"_

_Ape-Political got away, and the fucking Tankie was just watching._

_Ancom said nothing._

_"Dammit, Ancom!" I cried, shaking their shoulders. "Wake the fuck up."_

_I glanced back at Tankie. Again, just watching. "How long have you fucking been here? They need our help! They're not just your fucking tool!" I raised my voice, invading his personal space._

_"Kulak, they cannot be helped. Besides, it is what's best."_

_"What's best?" I blinked, trying to process his statement. "I'm an anarchist! You're a communist! They were both! They were supposed to help us!"_

_He stared at me. "Anarchism is a threat to everything I stand for." His words bended around his lips, slipping angrily through his teeth._

_"And communism is a threat to everything I stand for, but I love them. And I see their value beyond expanding my ideology, you selfish fuck." Tears began escaping from my eyes as I desperately tried to get Tankie to understand. But he wouldn't. He would destroy anything in the way of his goals, and that's behavior you can't change._

_"Love, wake up," I muttered, abandoning all of my hope. The color was draining out of them, going from emerald green to a dull gray._

"Ugh, I'm fine," they stirred, pushing me backwards. "And get off of me."

_"A-Ancom?" I mumbled, attempting to form a coherent thought or conclusion._

_"What the fuck is an Ancom?" they asked sleepily, wiping their eyes with the sleeve of their hoodie. "Communism isn't the best, in my opinion."_

_What the fuck?_

_"I'm leaving," they said._

_"But what about Centricide? What about Ape-Political?" I asked frantically._

_But what I really meant was,_

_What about me?_

_"That shit was all just a ruse," they teased. "And a spook. See you around, Ancap."_

...

I look down at the paper, heat swimming in my bloodstream and tickling my neck.

_Ancom was always a threat to me_ , I thought. _Even more than the fucking statist. They would rise out of nowhere and stir shit up, defacing my property and devaluing my capital. I should be glad they're dead._

But I owe it to them. I try to remember. _Ancom..._

...

_They laced their fingers around my back, putting their sweet lips on mine._

_A short "Ancap..." escaped from them._

_Hips, legs, and bodies tangled like ropes, desperately clinging to each other for comfort. "I love you," I whispered, tracing unreadable shapes into their back with my fingertips._

_"I love you too."_

...

_"Aren't you relieved, Ancap? Another communist gone," smiled Libertarian, clinking his cup of tea against mine. "Now if we could wreck that stupid statist, we'd have a victory on our hands for once. Not just for us, for all of Ancapistan." I focused my energy onto the chair in front of me, eyes practically beaming lasers. "Ancap, what's wrong?"_

_I blinked. "Oh, uh, n-nothing," I falsely grinned, stammering. "I just don't want to violate the NAP, is all."_

_"Oh, sure," he chucked, giving me a cheeky smile. "You were always... cautious."_

_"Well, is it not justified?" I offered a small smile in return._

_"You've always been the planner."_

_We sat in silence for a moment, him attempting to decipher my nervous demeanor. I pulled at the collar of my shirt, fumbling with the buttons. "Is it a little hot in here? I think it's a little hot in here."_

_He frowned. "Ancap, what's wrong?"_

_I buried my face in my hands, pushing my fingertips into my eyes. "They're gone," I whispered._

_"That's... wrong? I know they were a fellow anarchist, but-"_

_I stifled a small sob, my throat catching and causing a strange sound to escape my mouth._

_"Oh," he mumbled disappointedly. He could read me like a book. "I didn't know about you and them before."_

_I stared lasers into the carpet, diverting my attention from him. "Yeah."_

...

The pen meets the paper, leaving an awkward mark on the page.

I can finally begin.

"Anarcho-Communism is an ideology focused on liberating workers from the chains of the bourgeoisie as well as the state..."

...

I write like time is running out, desperately telling their story. "The world's going to know your name, love," I whispered absentmindedly, smiling at the memory of them.

My pen runs to the edge of the final page, filling it up with words. My handwriting is scratchy, small, and smudged, but they wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Revolution is messy. Libertarian was wrong, I'm not a planner. Neither was Ancom.

...

I leave my writings on the doorstep of the largest factory in Ancapistan, hoping they'll fall into the right hands. Every part of me shouldn't be wishing for it to, but I do. I want to look outside and see the fierce glint in Ancom's eyes, ready to strike whatever stood in their path.

...

_Three Months Later_

The screen on my phone lights up, jolting me awake. I pick up the call I was receiving to hear a frantic Libertarian on the other line. "Ancap, you have to come quick! This is exactly what we feared. Revolution! Come quick, workers are flooding the streets."

There is no time.

I jump into my car, moving as if I had sprouted wings and were flying down the pothole-covered streets.

The sight is like a miracle. 

I see it all. Molotovs, bricks, chanting, screaming. Property destruction. The sound of shattering windows.

In every pair of eyes, I see Ancom. That vicious green that seared in their eyes, filled with both love and contempt. Passion like a flame. 

God, I would've done anything to see them again, and here they are. 

"I told your story, Ancom." 


End file.
